


you know that you make it shine

by kissteethstainred



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bands, Alternate Universe - Celebrity, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Sports, Background Harper/Monroe, Friends to Lovers, Long-Distance Friendship, M/M, Pining, Social Media, i have begun full jasper erasure and i'm not sorry, suicide mention (in passing; has nothing to do with main characters), the trials and tribulations of being famous
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-11
Updated: 2016-06-11
Packaged: 2018-07-14 09:55:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7166450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kissteethstainred/pseuds/kissteethstainred
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nathan Miller, famous and record-breaking football star (and who never once listened to or even heard of Triptych), and Monty Green, member of the up-and-coming band Triptych (and who hated football), happened to meet though a night of random chance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	you know that you make it shine

**Author's Note:**

> i . . . love famous au's . . . and this somehow also turned into a social media au? best of both worlds, imo. i'm (hopefully) going to make a series of famous au's, but we'll see what my good friend ~writing inspiration~ says about that
> 
> fun game to play while reading this: spot the characters from other fandoms!!! it's . . . not hard at all it's actually pretty obvious but play anyways
> 
> title is from shine by years & years, which is a) obvi monty/miller and b) about being famous so ?? ? perfect

Monty’s alarm woke him up in the morning, and when he turned off his alarm, he saw that he had a text from Miller. It said:

 **Nathan Miller - 4:30 A.M.**  
_okay: things you hate about “your image”/things_  
_you hate about what they make you do for it_

Monty thought about it as he changed into clothes for the day. He glanced mournfully at the bed as he changed, knowing that very soon, for the next few weeks or so, he'd be sleeping on a tour bus again. Today was the lucky day where he got to sleep in a real bed, thanks to their crossing countries (Mexico to America), but once they reached America, it would basically be nothing but a bus tour across the states. 

Harper and Monroe were already up when he got down to the breakfast bar, eating their plates of breakfast and talking about their days to come. Harper was saying, “I think we could add in another song to the set list. Wouldn't it be fun to do a cover of Amy Winehouse?”

“We better do a cover of either Back to Black, Rehab, or Valerie,” Monty said as he sat down. 

Monroe snorted. “Like we would do anything other than Valerie. Please.” 

Monty smiled and dug into his eggs, wondering what stunt Miller might've had to do now that made him send that text to Monty.

“I don't even think my vocal range can get Back to Black or Rehab,” Harper said as Monty texted Miller back. “Besides, as a bi woman, I think it'd be sacrilegious to _not_ do Valerie.” 

**Monty Green - 9:47 A.M.**  
ummmm I guess the 1st thing would be monitoring  
everything I say in interviews or social media

 **9:47 A.M.**  
I just never feel like myself all that stuff. social  
media a little less than interviews, since interviews  
are so q &a, but it's all still monitored 

**9:49 A.M.**  
the first time they tried to change our music, we  
gave them an ultimatum. we had to set this all in  
our contract too

 **9:51 A.M.**  
also I can still remember H, M,  & me reading over  
our contract and seeing all the things we weren't  
allowed to do. it was heartbreaking

 **9:52 A.M.**  
we really had to fight for us being openly gay, as  
ourselves and as a group. like….they hired us for  
our music, and our music (and yknow us!!) is gay  
and we're not gonna hide that lmfao. it's kinda become  
our main image, like ohhhhh this entire group is gay  
and we sing gay songs, but we'd rather have it this  
way than any other way, yknow? I wouldn't want us  
to pretend to be straight, I don't know what I would've  
done

 **9:53 A.M.**  
sorry about that last line, I wasn't thinking. you know  
I don't blame you for having to hide

•••

Monty sat at the aisle seat, with Harper and Monroe in the two seats next to him. All three members of the band _Triptych_ in one row. No one seemed to recognize them, which they were fine with—they enjoyed meeting fans, but sometimes, the hype around them was a little too much. 

The flight to San Diego was short, and when Monty finally turned off airplane mode, he had an influx of texts from Miller.

 **Nathan Miller - 2:16 P.M.**  
_yeah the gay thing is near the top of my fucking list._  
_like I WISH the whole “homophobic football culture”_  
_was just a cliche but it's so fucking real._

 **2:16 P.M.**  
_and I know what you mean about interviews and social_  
_media. my Twitter is basically my own thing, but they_  
_still tell me to delete posts that are too gay or too_  
_mentally ill or too Whatever They Disagree With_

 **2:20 P.M.**  
_but my least favorite thing is that I can't post_  
_anything about my anxiety. bellamy and I have this_  
_fucking /best bros, 100% Perfect/ image going on_  
_it's like . . . yeah, we're bffs, but we're not fucking_  
_perfect_

 **2:21 P.M.**  
_like what the fuck!!!!! I was diagnosed with gad at_  
_13 and I've been gay for all eternity and I can't say_  
_anything about either of them???? it's bullshit god_  


**2:21 P.M.**  
_oh shit I keep meaning to tell you that I've been_  
_thinking about hiring a new agent named Anya_  
_Comandre you should check her out but that's a_  
_different story. maybe ft tonight? miss your face_  


**2:24 P.M.**  
_or like . . . the other day I visited some youth group_  
_homes that my dad recommended and I just talked to_  
_these kids about their futures and shit bc I was in_  
_juvie for 2 years and I was where these kids were_  
_but look where I am now! So I was just telling these_  
_kids to keep dreaming and doing their thing and my_  
_agent/PR was all “that's great that you do service_  
_but maybe not there??? maybe donate $$$ or sign_  
_a jersey or something you know we wouldn't wanna_  
_ruin your image” I almost fucking fired him on the_  
_spot & it's why I'm looking at Anya. Talking to those _  
_kids doesn't ruin my image and I'm not doing it to_  
_look good I'm doing it bc we both need it fuck_

 **2:24 P.M.**  
_aaaaand I went off on a tangent again. sorry, I'm_  
_done for now. but text me when you're good, yeah?_  
_and we'll ft when you can idc about the time difference_  


**2:35 P.M.**  
_don't worry about the hiding comment. i know how_  
_you feel_

 **Monty Green - 3:57 P.M.**  
Fuck, I'm so sorry about everything. I've always been  
grateful that music is . . . I don't know if it's more  
accepting lmfao, but there are more out gay musicians  
than out football players. I know you're going to do  
the best for you, always, and you know I fully support  
you and am here for you ♥♥♥ but totally get a  
new agent, from all he stories you've told me this  
Murphy guy is an asshole. you ALWAYS come first. 

**Monty Green - 3:58 P.M.**  
also yes to ft I'll text you 2nite 

•••

 **Nathan Miller** @NMillerFootball • 4:16 PM  
how I get through my day: @BellBlakeOfficial and M. don't know how else I'd do it

•••

Nathan Miller, famous and record-breaking football star (and who never once listened to or even heard of _Triptych_ ), and Monty Green, member of the up-and-coming band _Triptych_ (and who hated football), happened to meet because of Raven Reyes. 

Raven was an athlete turned DJ, ever since her shattered knee ended her running career and officially began her music career. She hosted parties for friends, colleagues, and potential investors in her music all the time. Monty and Miller were at one of these parties—Monty invited because Raven liked and knew _Triptych_ , and Miller because former athlete Raven knew Bellamy Blake (who is Miller’s teammate, best friend, and the other half to the “record breaking” equation). 

So they happened to meet though a night of random chance, and the fact that they even spoke at all was even more up to chance. Monty had no reason to speak to a football player, but Raven wanted Bellamy alone and Bellamy hadn't wanted to leave Miller alone. So Raven dragged Monty over to Miller, introduced them, and left them to follow Bellamy. 

And yet for some reason they connected on a level Monty hadn't felt before. 

They found out pretty quickly that they didn't have anything in common. Miller’s “So, uh, do you like football?” was met with Monty’s awkward “Actually, I can't stand it.” And then Monty’s “Do you like music? I mean—more so than usual” was met with a shrug and a “No, it's pretty average for me.”

They then tried to go back to college, but Miller had majored in English, only to be cut off junior year when he was drafted (he finished it later online), while Monty majored in biochemical engineering, only for the degree to be disuseful in a budding music career. 

The only thing they had in common was that they were famous, but even then, Miller was more famous than Monty was. 

Monty couldn’t even imagine how different his life would've been if he hadn't had the guts to say, “Well, let's grab some beers and you can tell me your favorite thing about studying English.”

Miller's favorite subject was African-American poetry, since his focus was African-American literature, and he would've written his senior paper comparing pre-twenty-first century poets to rappers, if he'd ever actually finished through his senior year. 

“But if I never became a pro football player,” Miller said, “I think I would've become an English teacher. Which I know everybody _thinks_ is the cliche _—_ it's really not—but I enjoy helping kids, and all of my English teachers inspired me.”

Then Miller asked about Monty’s favorite thing about biochemical engineering, which started being about about biology and ethics (his favorite thing science related, since engineering is not a party concept) and ended on a rant about how people get evolution wrong. 

“I've never once seen any of the Planet of the Apes movies,” Monty told him, “because it's concept of evolution is just so twisted it makes my mind blown. Actually, any science fiction gets on my fucking nerves because most of their scientific basis is wrong.”

Then they switched, Monty telling his favorite English thing (reading The Hobbit in high school) and Miller telling his favorite science thing (deadly and/or strange animals). 

And then they just kept talking—high school to worst and best teachers to being gay growing up to their parents to best friends to their wishes growing up to their careers now to their weirdest famous stories to politics to the taste of their beer to space vs. the ocean to which country they want to visit to how weird being famous is. _Everything_. 

And after everything, when the party was finally ending (around 6 in the morning) and Bellamy came to collect Miller, they looked at each other and realized—they both wanted more of this, whatever it was. Whatever this connection was. So Miller said, “Um, here's my number if you want it. You can talk to me about anything, seriously,” and Monty had beamed at him and said, “Yes, absolutely, you too, you have to promise,” and they both left to their respective places. 

And in the awkward way where both persons promised to talk but are are too hesitant and nervous about being annoying to actually call the person, they didn't talk for about five weeks. The silence was broken by Monty, who texted Miller (at 3 in the morning) after a particularly grueling and exhausting day, “ _do you think all the fame is worth it_?”

Miller had texted back, “ _hmmm_ ,” and then, “ _discussion_?”

They haven't stopped talking since.

•••

Actually, the first time the silence had been broken had been when Monty texted, “ _being fame mouse = bright fhcking lights EVERWYHERE I can't fucking SEE_ ” after he'd done a concert at an awful venue and had gotten drunk afterwards.

Miller had replied, “ _I'm gonna be blind when I'm 40_.”

But they didn't really talk about that, unless Miller was teasing Monty about “fame mouse.”

•••

Monty and Miller FaceTime’d at around ten o’clock for Monty—meaning near one in the morning for Miller—while Monty was already in bed. 

When Miller came on screen, he was also in bed, and he smiled when he saw Monty. “Hey there,” Miller said. 

Monty honestly had to take a moment. It's not like Monty forgot how attractive Miller was, it was just that seeing it again in such definition (and not his fuzzy memory) made his tongue stick to the roof of his mouth. 

“Hey,” he said, once his tongue was being agreeable. “Long time, no see. How are you?”

Miller shrugged. “I'm alright. Definitely less pissed off than before. A little tired.”

“You—”

“If you say I should be asleep right now, I'll cut the conversation now.” Miller smiled when Monty closed his mouth and pulled an innocent expression. “Good. How are you?”

“I'm pretty good, excited to sleep. Today was just a day of going over plans and moving equipment and general chaos.”

Miller scratched at his scruff, which Monty had noticed in about two seconds. Monty's heart skipped in his chest. “You're in California, right?”

“Yes, San Diego. From here we go to LA, then San Fran, then I think somewhere up further, I've already forgotten. Fuck. And then Oregon and the rest of the states.”

Miller gave Monty a sympathetic smile—they'd both talked about having to travel around the US before—and said, “At least you're on the last stretch. You end in New York, right?”

“Yeah, we have a show somewhere near there and then I can finally be home.” Monty groaned. “Oh, man, that already sounds ages away.”

Miller laughed. “Day by day, that's how we do it.”

Monty shook his head, trying to focus on the conversation instead of his beating heart. It sucked, being in love with someone who a) didn't know and b) lived across the country (from where Monty was at), but Monty wouldn't give up this relationship with Miller if ever given the chance. 

“I meant to ask you about what happened this morning that made you text me,” Monty said. 

“Oh, it wasn't anything huge. I had to do a photoshoot, and on the way there, I got a major lecture about ‘the importance of a social presence that's directed a certain way,’ or whatever bullshit phrase my agent said.”

Monty tried to hide a smile. “Were you shirtless?”

Miller glared at him through the screen. “Shut up.” Monty laughed, so Miller said, “God, fuck you. You know I hate doing shirtless shoots”—more than that, he hated his (and Bellamy’s) entire _hunk_ image—“and straight away, the makeup artist didn't have the correct color makeup to cover the bags under my eyes.”

“You should've thrown a fit and walked out. It would've made first page news, and there goes your good guy image.” Monty shifted back against the pillows. “Did they do anything special to your abs?”

“Again: fuck you.”

Monty laughed again. “You have to tell me what it was!”

“Just that shiny spray again so that its contoured or highlighted or sweaty-looking or _whatever_.”

Monty made a disappointed noise. “Again? Never mind. Call me when they get creative for once.” 

Miller laughed, which made Monty all warm. The phone shook as Miller laughed, showing a little more than just Miller’s face, and Monty could see that he was shirtless right _then_ , his collarbones and pecs showing a little. Monty rolled his eyes to stop himself from staring for too long—Monty could see Miller’s _tattoos_. Everything was unfair. 

“Oh, I wanted to talk about my new agent,” Miller said. 

“You got her?” Monty asked, sitting up a little in his excitement. 

“No, not yet, but I didn't get a chance to tell you about it earlier. Her name is Anya Comandre—take a moment and google her.”

Monty groaned. “Nate, nooooo.”

“What? You don't have to click on the articles, just read the headlines.”

“I know what you're doing! Every time I go to google something you take screenshots of my face when I'm totally unprepared.”

Miller laughed, which was basically confirmation. “Just do it, idiot.” 

Monty shook his head, dreading the blackmail material that would come out of this, but he did it anyways. A simple google search of “Anya Comandre” brought up:

 _Anya Comandre Wins Court Case, Coach Wallace to Pay Heavily for Racist Comments_

**Famous Sports Agent to Give Testimony in USWNT FIFA Lawsuit**

_TIME Interview with Anya Comandre, the Agent of Every Athlete’s Dreams_

**The Agent Every Sports Team Fears, and Why They 100% Should**

Monty gave a low whistle. “She seems expensive, not that you care.”

“She is, but it'll be worth it. I contacted her second in command the other day—some woman named Lexa—and we just talked over details and what I'd want and prices, but I was basically already sold. From what I was told, she was definitely interested.” 

“Nate, that's awesome. Seriously, I'm so happy for you.”

“Thanks, I . . . This finally feels like a move in the right direction. I feel like I'll finally be able to breathe.” Miller shrugged, a small but genuine smile on his face.

Monty couldn't help himself—it was such a soft and beautiful expression that Monty took a screenshot. Yet he was betrayed by his sound, which was still on (and _loud_ ), so that Miller heard it and busted out laughing. 

“Did you just take a screenshot?” he asked. “You fucking hypocrite!”

“Listen—” Monty began, then realized he didn't want to have to explain why he took the screenshot. “It's just good, old-fashioned revenge!” 

Miller didn't stop laughing, but Monty wasn't upset by the teasing; he reveled in it. 

•••

 **Monty Green** @MontyMusic • 7:31 AM  
listen, I may be tired as death this morning, but aren't all love songs written about late night phone calls? #WorthIt

•••

Monty sipped his coffee and watched Harper and Monroe look over the lyrics he'd given them. The first time they'd done this, Monty's heart had pounded and his mouth had been dry, scared for their opinions and embarrassed before they'd even said anything, but by now, it was an old practice for them. It was also comforting that they had to do it too, since they all contributed lyrics, and went through the same soul-baring process. 

Harper and Monroe were leaning against each other in the booth, their coffees steaming in front of them, holding hands on the diner booth seat. 

“I like this one,” Harper said, pointing to a line written near the bottom of the page. When Monty squinted at it, he could just make out _somehow seeing you through the phone makes me feel more alone_ written in blue ink. 

Monroe read over where Harper was pointing and said, “Yeah, that's a good one. Pretty sure we could match the one he'd written about distance . . . Here, on this page . . .”

Harper read over that and nodded, then said with a glance up, teasing smile on her lips, “I'm sensing a common theme here.”

Monty sat back in the booth, shrugging and clutching his coffee in both hands to hold onto its warmth. They were in a small diner in Colorado as they made their way to their venue, and it was a surprisingly peaceful morning. 

“You've been writing a lot of love songs lately,” Harper said. 

Monroe continued, “Love songs, lyrics about distance and longing and—”

“That could be about my parents, I'm very homesick and I love them a lot.”

“And this lyric here?” Harper asked. “About the shape of his hands on your waist—”

Monty laughed. “Alright, I get it. I'm pining. This is not news to me.”

Both Monroe and Harper laughed at that, flicking back to the recent pages to continue reading the lyrics. They'd started dating a year into the creation of their band and had remained steady throughout, and Monty has never felt like a third wheel or excluded member. They're his best friends, and he wouldn't want to be doing this with anyone else. 

Harper nudged Monroe with her shoulder and said, “Awww, read this one.”

“Look, I'm not the one in a four-year long committed relationship, am I? Let my gay, lonely ass live.”

“Hey,” Harper said while pointing a finger at him. “I did say you could join Monroe and I for a poly relationship like? A year into _Harpoe_.”

“And it was vetoed,” Monty reminded her. “Also, stop calling yourselves Harpoe, it's fucking weird.”

“Vetoed by both of us,” Monroe said dryly. “2-1 majority.” 

“Whatever.” Harper turned back to Monty and raised her eyebrows. “Have you talked to Miller about New York yet?”

“He invited me over the last time we talked,” Monty said, putting his coffee mug down. They all paused while the waitress came to take their order, and they all got different things—pancakes for Harper, French toast for Monroe, and waffles for Monty, but they knew it'd be shared around anyways. 

“You're going to go, aren't you?” Monroe asked, but Monty remained silent, running his thumb over the handle of the cup. “Monty Green, don't you dare tell me you're being a coward. Why wouldn't you see him?”

“We haven't made any definite plans or anything,” Monty said defensively. “He just said I _could_ come over, and if I needed to stay the night I could do that, too.”

“He already invited you to stay the night?” Harper asked, and when Monty turned slightly red, she started laughing. 

Monroe gave Harper a fond look. “She has a point. Look—forget the you being in love with him thing. Would you still want to see him?” she asked, reminding him that she could also be the reasonable one. 

“Yes, of course.” _Of course_. 

“Then you should see him,” Monroe said with a shrug. “You're friends, remember? Who cares if nothing happens.”

“Except something is totally gonna happen,” Harper says. “He invited you to _sleep over_.”

“Harper, _please_.”

They stopped again when the waitress came with their food, thanking her as they collected their plates and syrup. Monroe and Monty talked about their cover of Valerie—a huge success, by the way—and how they could possibly improve it while Harper dug into her pancakes and continued reading the lyrics. 

She laughed and said, “Oh, we have to use this one,” pointing to a lyric that read _the distance between us is only numbers, and I've always been good at math_. 

•••

 **Nathan Miller - 6:44 P.M.**  
_are you free rn?_

Monty glanced at the text quickly, barely moving the phone out of his pocket, and then typed out at the speed of light:

 **Monty Green - 6:48 P.M.**  
not yet @ dinner will b good in 30, u?

 **Nathan Miller - 6:48 P.M.**  
_k_

Well, and _k_ was never a good response. Monty hoped everything was okay as he put his phone back in his pocket, turning his attention back on the dinner that he was having with some of the producers of the music company they belonged to. It was all superficial, shit none of the members of _Triptych_ wanted to do, but it was better for everyone if they did. Monty got roped into a conversation about an upcoming band the company was thinking of supporting, and Nathan's text was always at the back of his mind. 

When the dinner was over and they were back in the car, Monty immediately texted back:

 **Monty Green - 7:27 P.M.**  
I'm free. is everything okay?

 **Nathan Miller - 7:31 P.M.**  
_no, bad mental place rn._

 **Nathan Miller - 7:31 P.M.**  
_I don't wanna talk about it._

 **Monty Green - 7:33 P.M.**  
do you need me to do anything?

 **Nathan Miller - 7:35 P.M.**  
_can you distract me? explain some science theory_  
_or something whatever idc what you do_

 **Monty Green - 7:37 P.M.**  
alright

 **Monty Green - 7:37 P.M.**  
science vs. ethics lesson #whatever number we’re  
on. so you know how there are huge moments and  
everything to save the tigers/pandas/whatever?

 **Nathan Miller - 7:38 P.M.**  
_yeah I always see those ads on the tv_

 **Monty Green - 7:39 P.M.**  
well, attempting to save any of the animals is pointless

 **Monty Green - 7:39 P.M.**  
bc every animal on this planet will be extinct 

**Nathan Miller - 7:40 P.M.**  
_b/c of humans??_

 **Monty Green - 7:40 P.M.**  
including humans 

**Monty Green - 7:41 P.M.**  
I mean yeah lmfao they probably will be extinct  
bc of humans BUT that's a different ethics thing ha

 **Nathan Miller - 7:42 P.M.**  
_this isn't one of those “the world is gonna implode_  
_anyways so why bother” things, is it? if it is I'm_  
_asking bell to distract me instead he’ll at least do_  
_it with football_

 **Monty Green - 7:42 P.M.**  
def not

 **Monty Green - 7:42 P.M.**  
at least . . . not implosion? just trust me

 **Nathan Miller - 7:43 P.M.**  
_alright then professor green, why IS every animal_  
_(including humans) on this planet going to be extinct?_  


**Monty Green - 7:43 P.M.**  
shut up you were the one who wanted to be a teacher.  
& it's bc of evolution, of course

 **Nathan Miller - 7:43 P.M.**  
_of course_

 **Monty Green - 7:44 P.M.**  
hold your sass, please, I'm getting to the explaining  
part. so all of the animals are going to be extinct  
bc the SPECIES will be extinct 

**Monty Green - 7:46 P.M.**  
a sibling species before us was homo neanderthalensis.  
everyone in the H.n species is extinct, but we're all  
alive. the saber tooth tiger is dead but our tiger is alive

 **Nathan Miller - 7:48 P.M.**  
_ohhh ok so we adapt and a new species comes along_

 **Monty Green - 7:48 P.M.**  
NATAHN MILLER WHAT HAVE I TOLD YOU  
ABOUT EVOLUTION!!!!!!!! we cannot “adapt”  
adaptation is not a thing we /do/ it’s a thing that  
/happens/ to us!!!!!!

 **Monty Green - 7:48 P.M.**  
anyways basically you were right. all of the animals  
alive rn will be dead but there will bc new species!!  
which begs the question: should we keep trying to  
save animals going extinct if we're all going to go  
extinct???

 **Nathan Miller - 7:49 P.M.**  
_okay, I see where you're coming from_  


**Nathan Miller - 7:49 P.M.**  
_so saving the bald eagle and all that was pointless??_

 **Monty Green - 7:50 P.M.**  
well this is where all the debate comes in. IS it  
pointless? should we continue to save the animals  
or let them die? how much do humans have to be  
culpable for the damage of the environment??

 **Monty Green - 7:52 P.M.**  
not that many ppl are actually debating it, but you  
get what I mean

 **Nathan Miller - 7:52 P.M.**  
_no, I totally get it. that's pretty interesting to think about_

 **Nathan Miller - 7:54 P.M.**  
_I mean, I'm also going to look at every animal now_  
_and think of this, but I can live with that_

 **Monty Green - 7:55 P.M.**  
didn't mean to ruin your ♥ for animals!

 **Nathan Miller - 7:58 P.M.**  
_don't worry, you didn't. but you helped, so thank you_

 **Monty Green - 7:59 P.M.**  
anytime. you know at anytime

 **Monty Green - 8:01 P.M.**  
I'll let you go now! it's only eight here in texas  
but I've fulfilled my duties here so ❤️ hopefully  
you can get some rest 

**Nathan Miller - 8:02 P.M.**  
_thanks, Monty. good night_

••• 

**dirtyhands** @crowcriminal • 11:21 AM  
@BellBlakeOfficial do you have any relationship advice?? #BellamyChat

 **Bellamy Blake** @BellBlakeOfficial • 11:43 AM  
@crowcriminal definitely someone who knows, understands, and supports you. both @NMillerFootball and I can attest to that #BellamyChat

••• 

**_Triptych_ Talks Touring, Dropships, and Summer Camp**  
by LINCOLN TRIKRU

Triptych _: the band everyone is talking about, and if you're not—whether or not you like them—you will be soon._

 _To say that the indie electronica band_ Triptych _is an overnight success would be deceiving people somewhat, and all three members of_ Triptych _—Zoe Monroe, Harper McIntyre, and Monty Green—agreed with the statement._

_“I would say it's more like a week long camping trip,” Monty Green says with a laugh. Monty Green is quiet, but funny and friendly when he does speak; the band’s pianist and co-singer looks like he's always thinking something smart (or smart-ass)._

_“Maybe a_ six _-week summer camp,” Zoe Monroe says instead, and they all laugh. Monroe goes by her last name, which should tell you enough: the band’s drummer is a punk, snarky, but never rude or unwelcoming._

_“It's been wild,” says the band’s singer and guitarist, Harper McIntyre, “but we wouldn't trade it for anything else.” Harper McIntyre is funny as well, her humor matching easily with her bandmates, and she speaks warmly and confidently._

_I met them in a diner in New Orleans (they're fond of diners, they've told me), and they were already sitting when I arrived. Upon meeting, it was evident that their band name,_ Triptych _—defined in the Fine Arts as three panels with separate images that convey a theme or message—is immediately fitting, as the three of them combine in a way that is compelling and creative. This comes as no surprise, as the trio have been close friends since college, and Harper and Monroe have been college sweethearts as well. Yet the members make you feel welcome at once, so effortlessly it seems as though they're about to invite you over for dinner after introductions. I didn't get an invitation to dinner, but we got breakfast—the band shared pancakes, French toast, and waffles between them as though they'd been doing it for years (which they probably have)—and I got the interview we were all promised._

_**LT** : Firstly, I have to thank you guys for meeting with me. I know you're on tour and time is tight. _

_**HM** : It's fine. We were all excited for the interview—it's been awhile since we've spoken with other people rather than sing to them. _

_**LT** : And glad I am to speak with you! Since we're on the subject of the tour, how is that going for you? You just finished a concert last night in New Orleans that I heard was a blast, and you have thirteen cities left to go. _

_**ZM** : It's been great. The energy hasn't left us since we started the tour, and we are excited for the rest we get to sing and burn away. _

_**HM** : We’re also excited to go home, of course. Once all this tour energy is spent, we'll be sleeping for days. _

_**MG** : I don't think it's quite hit us yet—both the fact that we're getting close to home, and the fact that we just spent the last months on our first solo tour. It's so wild. _

_**LT** : Have the reactions startled you at all, rising to popularity in a six-week summer camp speed?_

_**HM** : [laughs] Of course! We get new surprises every day, and we welcome each one. _

_**ZM** : The popularity _is _the surprise._

 _ **LT** : How did it feel, then, when your first album _Dropship _came back with such good reviews? The album got mixed but generally positive reviews, and your band has been called “energetic,” “with a style like Years & Years and Alt-J,” and “this band is something to keep eyes on—they're going far.” _

_**MG** : Almost like it was all a dream. I remember reading these and just staring in blind shock—my mom was crying more than I was!_

_**ZM** : We spent an entire night together and read through comments—good and bad—and just cried throughout the night because damn it, even if we weren't there yet, we were recognized. _

_**HM** : Recognized and eager to keep improving. We like the reviews, and now we know to make sure they don't bother us too much. _

_**LT** : I think the biggest review has, of course, been in influx of fans since the album drop. Your fans span ages, gender, and sexuality, but it's important to note your LGBT influence. How have you felt about this power you have?_

_**MG** : We’re aware of it. We've always been aware of it. When we first signed, we fought to make sure we could be open about our sexuality, because that's half of what makes this band. [Everyone laughs] This is who we are and we’re proud of it. _

_**HM** : We’ve tried to reach out to everyone—some songs are vaguely LGBT, you know, but some songs are directed specifically towards gay guys or lesbians or bi people. We want people to feel understood. _

_**LT** : You all write the lyrics, correct?_

_**ZM** : Yes, we spend every week or so reviewing each other's lyrics. We basically just throw all our pages of lyrics together, pick out ones we like, and arrange them into songs. _

_**HM** : Which helps us create our own brand, in a way. Some of our lyrics obviously don't fit together smoothly or fit together at all, and this is why. We do this on purpose—it's strange but it's _us _._

_**MG** : It's not as fun as it sounds. Our friendship has lasted this long because we've bared our souls to each other with these words. We’re basically like lyric Dementors [Everyone laughs]. _

_**LT** : Another important aspect of your influence is the presence of your relationship, Harper and Monroe—how do you feel about all of that being on the forefront?_

_**HM** : The close inspection and obsessions can be weird, but we understand the need to see a happy, gay couple like us. We needed that when we were younger, so we want to represent that to the kids who need it now. _

_**ZM** : She also likes the combined name. _

_**HM** : Harpoe! [Laughs] It's so much fun. _

_**LT** : Do you two have any plans after the tour is over?_

_**MG** : You're making it sound like they're going to ditch me to start a duo. Don't encourage them!_

_**HM** : [Laughs] As if we would ever. _

_**ZM** : We have plans to sleep. I, personally, am very excited about these plans. _

_**LT** : I'll not leave Mr. Green out of the love nest. Is there anyone you're currently seeing?_

_**MG** : Ah . . . [Chuckles] Maybe, we'll see. Who knows. _

_**LT** : I know when to stop prying. I'll continue off my ask for plans of the future—can we expect another album soon?_

_**ZM** : Soon? I don't think so, with the tour and all, but we are working. _

_**HM** : There's nothing definitive; currently, we’re just throwing our lyrics around and picking out what we like. Nothing serious has happened yet. _

_**MG** : We’ll rest, but we won't truly be resting, you know? We can't give this up. _

_**LT** : We all look forward to what you guys will come up with. Thank you so much for interviewing with me today, and I wish you all the best of luck for the rest of your tour and all future albums. _

Dropship _is available in stores and online. Thank you to SkyKru Publications and _Triptych _for the interview._

_•••_

Monty called Miller around three in the afternoon, and he nervously fiddled with the hotel shampoo and conditioner bottles as he waited for Miller to answer. He wasn't even sure if he _would_ answer—it was around four in New York City, and Monty didn't know if Miller was still practicing or not. 

He fiddled with the bottle so much that he imagined that if long telephone cords were still around, he'd be twirling them around his finger. It would be nice for a lyric, he thought. Interesting and different. 

Monty was so focused that he accidentally pushed the bottles into the tub; they fell down with a loud clatter and Monty cursed right when Miller answered the phone. 

“Oh, hey,” Monty said, trying to collect himself. “Are you busy?”

“I have a little bit of time before press right now, so I can talk,” Miller said. 

Just hearing Miller’s voice and Miller saying he'd be able to talk was already soothing Monty’s nerves. 

“Is everything okay?” Miller asked. 

“It's—I don't know,” Monty said. “How well do you deal with fans? Do you think they're worth it?” 

“If we're being general, yes, they're worth it,” Miller said. “But the majority of them can be annoying and oppressive. It's like you're not a person, you know? You're a commodity or an idol or a famous face.”

Monty nodded, realized Miller can't see him, and said, “Yeah, I totally agree. It's like . . . I can't even tell if my smile in photos is real anymore. Which sucks, because I do like meeting fans. I don't want to be that artist that gets tired of meeting fans as time goes on, but today I'm just fucking exhausted.”

Miller's voice turned soft. “What happened?”

“We had a meet and greet today and it was . . . God, it was fucking emotional. I know it's different for football—or, actually, I don't know, correct me on anything—but my audience is mostly comprised of teenagers. They're really passionate about us and a lot of them are LGBT and we mean so much to them. And I'm glad they find hope in us, it's what we want, but sometimes it's draining to see how much hope they have for us.” Monty closed his eyes. “How bad their lives are to cling so tightly to us. I just want the best for them, you know?”

“I get it,” Miller said. “That's how I am with the kids I visit at juvie and the group homes. Seeing these kids . . . Sometimes I flashback and I get stuck in this hopelessness because I can't help them _all_. I thought I could do so much with this power, with this spotlight on me, and I'm realizing how much my hands are tied.”

Monty could feel his throat closing up, and he tried his best not to cry. He could vaguely hear Monroe and Harper talking in the other room. 

“There was this boy,” Monty whispered. “He came up to me and told me about how—how he'd been contemplating suicide because he couldn't be out to his parents, but our music saved him. What could I possibly tell him? I wanted to cry. We hugged and I said—I don't even remember—and I wished I could've brought him back to the hotel with us. But I can't. And I can only hope—God—” Monty felt some tears slip down his cheeks and said, “I think it's finally hitting me. I think I've lost it.” 

“Hey, hey,” Miller said. “It's okay. You're allowed to lose it, remember? I'm pretty sure you told me that once. You're allowed to be sad and angry for all these kids. They're _us_. They used to be us and they are us and they'll be us. But you are helping them, even if you couldn't physically protect them, because your music touches them and let's them hope. That's enough, Monty. Just one thing is enough.”

Monty wiped at the tears coming down his cheeks with his sleeve. He tried to calm his breathing but it seemed to make him want to cry more. 

“You can cry,” Miller said softly. “You don't have to pretend for me.”

“I'm sorry.”

“Don't be. At all, you understand?”

“Sure,” Monty said, his voice thick. “Thank you.”

“Of course.” 

Monty pressed his fingers against the bath tile. Very suddenly, longing and need pressed upon him—he wanted to be with Miller, thank him in person, he was tired of everything being over the phone. 

“When I come back to New York, can I see you? Soon?”

There was a small pause, where Monty thought his heart would burst with anticipation, but Miller said, “Of course. I'd love it. Which day?”

“I come back the eighteenth, but—are you sure you're not busy, practicing for your games and—”

“Monty, I'll make time. I don't care what I have to cancel.”

Monty hiccuped on a laugh. “Okay. Just tell me when. I'll even come the night I'm dropped off, just tell me when I can.”

“It's a promise.” There was a noise on Miller's end, and then Miller said, “I have to go now, I've got some press stuff. I'll call you later, okay?”

“Okay. Thank you, again. Goodbye, Nate.”

“Goodbye, Monty.” 

_•••_

**mirror mirror** @bluecallsbullshit • 6:21 PM  
@Harplaying Who’s your favorite band member besides yourself? #AskTriptych 

**Harper McIntyre** @Harplaying • 6:38 PM  
@bluecallsbullshit I can't choose between my best friend and my girlfriend! #AskTriptych

 **Monroe** @MonroeTriptych • 6:43 PM  
@Harplaying @MontyMusic Wow babe . . . I feel the love 

**Monty Green** @MontyMusic • 6:43 PM  
@Harplaying @MonroeTriptych what a fake homie!!!! #CantTrustAnyone

 **Harper McIntyre** @Harplaying • 6:45 PM  
@MontyMusic @MonroeTriptych You're both sitting next to me and SAW me tweet that! #Smh #SpeakUpOrShutUp

 **lesbian queen** @maxofthieves • 7:38 PM  
what are the last lyrics you've written down??? #AskTriptych

 **Monty Green** @MontyMusic •7:49 PM  
@maxofthieves “if home is where the heart is, I'd be in new york city with you” #AskTriptych

•••

 **Nathan Miller - 4:15 P.M.**  
_just met a guy with my face on his t-shirt. fucking_  
_weird_

 **Monty Green - 5:02 P.M.**  
not really sure that beats seeing your lyrics tattooed  
on people. THAT’S surreal

 **Nathan Miller - 5:06 P.M.**  
_why is it always a competition with you? well,_  
_I'll raise you: people have gotten my face tattooed_  
_on them. check mate._

 **Monty Green - 5:07 P.M.**  
sorry but . . . holy shit. do you have photos?? 

**Nathan Miller - 5:08 P.M.**  
_not on me. I didn't even see it in person, someone_  
_tweeted it @ me_

 **Monty Green - 5:08 P.M.**  
is it a true likeness?

 **Nathan Miller - 5:09 P.M.**  
_why, monty green, did you just quote pride and_  
_prejudice at me? I'm very impressed_

 **Monty Green - 5:10 P.M.**  
you are an easy man to please

 **Nathan Miller - 5:10 P.M.**  
_when it's you, yes_

**Monty Green - 5:10 P.M.**  
jesus

 **Monty Green - 5:11 P.M.**  
call me, I want to hear your voice

Monty's phone rang immediately, and it took him less than a second to answer. 

“Hey,” Miller said, and Monty could tell that he was smiling. It made Monty's heart soar. 

“Hi,” Monty said, his voice half a breath. He was so god damn _giddy_. “I'm so excited to see you.” 

“Same. I'm basically counting down days.” There was a small sigh from Miller’s end, and then he said, “You're in Charlestown, aren't you?”

“Yes. Only six more stops after this.” The _and then I see you_ went unspoken. 

“At least we're in the same time zone for once, I'm not exhausted every morning.”

“Nate! I kept telling you—”

“What? I'm allowed to make my own, adult decisions.” 

“I hate you so much right now.”

“Ah, so you won't visit me the first day you get back anymore?”

Monty bit his bottom lip. “Well, we can't go _too_ far.”

Miller laughed. “No,” he said, so obviously happy that it made Monty's heart ache. “That would be crossing a line.”

 _This_ was why teleportation was needed, Monty thought, so that long distance relationships could see each other in person. 

“Go to sleep, Monty. You'll need to save up that energy, for your shows and all.”

Monty groaned. “Will you shut up about that interview already?”

“I can't. The magazine is framed in my hallway.”

“Shut up.”

“The phrase is beautiful! Begin quote. Ah . . . Bracket laughs bracket, maybe, we'll see. Who knows. End quote.”

Monty laughed. “You have it memorized, don't you?”

“Of course.”

 _Of course_. It was so sweet, so achingly open and lovely and simple, that Monty almond booked a flight then. He said, quietly, full of longing and desire, “Nate.”

“I know. Fuck, I know.”

—

They finished their last show in Montpelier, Vermont, and Monty couldn't believe it. _Couldn't_. The crowd was still screaming and he, Harper, and Monroe were still on the stage and all they could do was stare at the crowd and each other. 

Finally Harper moved, stumbling towards Monty; Monroe moved immediately afterwards, and they were caught in a group hug. Monty could feel his throat tightening, threatening him with tears, and decided he didn't care when he saw Monroe and Harper in tears.

The crowd was going wild, cheering and screaming. “Holy shit,” Harper yelled. “Can you believe it?”

Monroe laughed, shaking her head, and Monty tightened his arms around them.

They finally separated but held onto each other's hands. They faced the crowd, the giant TV’s focused on their ready faces, and gave a single bow as a band. The audience went wild again, their cheering swelling to a peak, and they left the stage to that sound. 

The rest seemed like a blur—being escorted to the car, the fans screaming outside of the car, the ride home, using face wipes to clean the sweat and dirt from their faces—and it all seemed to deflate at once when Monroe said quietly, “We're going home.”

Both Monty and Harper smiled. 

The next day was simply weird, knowing that they didn't have to head anywhere besides their own home, knowing that they wouldn't be singing, knowing that they were basically starting all over again. They had a blank canvas to work with, and Monty felt a little spark of excitement. 

They ate breakfast, packed everything and loaded it in the car, had a meeting with their agent to go over any last details they needed, and finally headed back to New York. Monty slept half the time and spent the other half going over Miller’s texts, his Instagram, and his Twitter. 

When they finally got into New York City, Monty texted Miller and added on _traffic, so, yknow_. 

_See you soon_ was Miller’s reply. 

Harper and Monroe lived together at the edge of the city, and Monty was about two blocks away from them, so the driver dropped them off in the middle. They hugged each other again, promised to get dinner the next night, and went their separate ways. 

It was almost comedic, the way Monty threw his bags down into the apartment without even opening them. He changed into a fresh pair of clothes, grabbed some money for a cab, and then left the apartment again. He was in and out in about ten minutes. 

He texted Miller while on his way there, mostly to cover up his nerves, but Miller caught on quickly. 

**Monty Green - 10:23 P.M.**  
okay, maybe I didn't miss nyc traffic that much

 **Nathan Miller - 10:24 P.M.**  
_no one ever does_

 **Nathan Miller - 10:24 P.M.**  
_are you close?_

 **Monty Green - 10:25 P.M.**  
do I make the dirty joke or do I answer?

 **Nathan Miller - 10:26 P.M.**  
_I hate you you're no longer invited over_

 **Monty Green - 10:26 P.M.**  
stop lying 2 yourself. also I'm 10 min away

 **Monty Green - 10:27 P.M.**  
I know it's late but we could go get food rn

 **Nathan Miller - 10:28 P.M.**  
_I have food monty there's no need to worry. we_  
_can eat here_

 **Nathan Miller - 10:29 P.M.**  
_wait . . . are you nervous???_

 **Monty Green - 10:30 P.M.**  
noooooo

 **Nathan Miller - 10:31 P.M.**  
_oh my god you ARE_

 **Monty Green - 10:31 P.M.**  
shut up!!!!! I'm not 

**Nathan Miller - 10:32**  
_you're ridiculous. just get here already_

_•••_

This was the irony:

Monty _was_ nervous (this is not the ironic part, he'll get there), nervous as the cab parked in front of Miller’s apartment, nervous as he walked up the steps, nervous as he knocked on the door and waited for Miller to come, nervous as he heard the locks unlatching and the door opening, nervous as Miller fully opened the door—and Monty finally, _finally_ saw him in person, able to touch and talk and smile without a camera—and said, “Hey.”

Monty’s stomach erupted into a storm of butterflies when he replied back, “Hey.”

Still nervous as Miller smiled and said, “Did you know this is only the second time we've met?”

And Monty just reached forward and kissed him. 

That was the irony. 

(Maybe it wasn't irony at all—maybe it was, in fact, his nerves, the adrenaline pushing at him until it crested in Monty kissing Miller, heart beating fast in his throat and fingers numb and knees weak, until Miller pulled him inside so that he could kiss Monty against the wall.)

•••

Miller nuzzled Monty’s throat, which he had found was a particular sensitive spot for Monty—even more so because Miller had grown out his scruff again since they'd last FaceTime'd, which made the nuzzling (and kissing) downright pleasurable. 

Monty was clutching Miller’s shoulders; he first held onto them when they kissed, and he was pretty sure he hasn't let go since. They'd long abandoned the wall, separating after who knows how long. They could only grin at each other, breathless, and Miller had led Monty over to the couch, turned the TV on, and then kissed him promptly three minutes into whatever they were watching. 

“Netflix and chill,” Monty had muttered, somewhere in between Monty being pressed down onto the couch and Miller’s shirt coming off. 

Miller had laughed, pressing his mouth to Monty’s collarbone, and said, “Now I know it works.”

Miller moved his mouth from Monty’s neck to his jaw, pressing his lips to spots and holding them there, and then he nudged (more like poked) his nose into Monty’s cheek. 

“Wake up,” he said. 

Monty slid one hand up to cup Miller’s neck. “I'm awake,” he said. 

“You're all sleepy.”

“It's _late_. What time is it?”

“Don't know, don't care,” Miller said. He kissed the corner of Monty's eyes, the tip of his nose, and finally reached his mouth. Monty made a soft noise and tightened his hold on Miller’s back, but Miller was right—Monty was tired. He kissed lazily, a slow movement of his lips, and Miller laughed. 

“Pretty sure it's time for bed,” he said. 

Monty sighed, but he knew Miller was right. “Can you carry me there?” he asked, moving his arms to around Miller’s neck. 

Miller shook his head fondly at Monty. “I see how it is. You get me all pliant through kissing only so that I do all your muscle work.”

Monty fit his legs around Miller’s waist. “Naaaate, please.”

Miller shook his head again but complied, picking Monty up and carrying him to the bedroom, talking about how Monty had enough energy to complain but not enough to actually get up himself. 

Monty just told Miller that he had his own priorities straight. 

Miller put Monty down on the bed, which was wonderfully comfortable, and Monty drew Miller down with him, clinging to him like a sloth does to a tree branch. Miller followed easily, hovering over Monty on his forearms and giving him hard but slow kisses, his fingers tracing down Monty’s cheeks. 

Monty was going to have enough lyric material to last him his entire life. 

“I thought we were going to sleep,” Monty said between kisses, his mouth prickling from Miller’s scruff. He enjoyed it immensely. 

“Your mouth is annoyingly insistent,” Miller muttered, and Monty filed that in the lyric section of his brain. 

Monty finally had the willpower to push Miller away and said, “Okay, there's actually a solution to this. Move over, move, move.”

Miller went along with Monty, getting on his side on the bed, and Monty pressed up against his back. Miller snorted and said, “ _You're_ the little spoon.” 

Monty traced one of Miller’s tattoos—a sunset over the sea, his mother’s name written in the wave—and said, “If _that's_ what you thought, I’m seriously reconsidering our relationship.” 

Miller just laughed. “Well, if you're going to spoon me, fucking _spoon_ me.” 

Monty pressed as close to Miller as he could, his arm tight around Miller’s waist ( _Holy shit, his_ abs, Monty thought), and then bit the top of Miller’s neck as a reprimand. 

“Jokes on you, I like biting,” Miller said, and Monty laughed until his stomach hurt. 

•••

 **Nathan Miller** @NMillerFootball • 8:12 AM  
best morning wake up I've had in awhile ♥♥♥♥ #M

 **Bellamy Blake** @BellBlakeOfficial • 8:57 AM  
@NMillerFootball see????? you're such a sap. & no one believed me #ToldYouSo

 **Nathan Miller** @NMillerFootball • 9:35 AM  
@BellBlakeOfficial I'm gonna kick your ass at practice #HesADeadMan 

•••

Miller said, “You could _at least_ watch this while I'm not in the room.”

“I told you I was going to watch it,” Monty replied, “and yet you decided to lay in my lap anyways. You played yourself.” 

“You did _not_ just say that to me,” Miller said, twisting his head to look at Monty with disbelief, but Monty just pushed his head back to the TV screen. 

Miller’s interview with Indra Groundés was on in about five minutes, and they both knew that Miller needed a reason to not go online and see any of the comments people might be making about him as they watched the interview. Monty was comfortably resting on the couch, Miller’s head in his lap, as he waited for it to come on. Miller had come home previously and told him that the interview had gone well—Miller had felt at ease for once. It helped that Indra was a close friend of Miller’s agent, Anya, and knew a few things or two about tact. 

Indra Groundés was one of the most popular hosts on TV right now, covering pretty much everything, no matter what the topic was: news, sports, music, all while retaining her host personality.

Miller came on about forty minutes in, and Monty poked Miller’s face when he came onscreen. 

“That's you.”

“Thanks, Monty.”

Indra shook his hand and welcomed him to the show, and Miller thanked her back, his posture relaxed. 

“You look at ease,” Monty said. 

“ _Look_ being the operative word. Thank god for anxiety medication.” 

Indra waited for the cheering to die down before saying, “ _Obviously, the first thing I'm going to mention is the fact that you broke the record—along with teammate Bellamy Blake—for most touchdown passes in a season, and you're well on your way to breaking the record for most touchdown passes overall_.” She waited for the crowd to stop clapping. “ _How does that feel_?”

Miller smiled as he gave a modest shrug. “ _It's a good feeling, of course, but it was never anything Bellamy and I were specifically reaching for, you know? I'm just glad the fans are happy for us. That warms the heart_.” 

“Warms . . . the heart,” Monty repeated. 

“Shut up, this was on the spot shit I said!”

Indra smiled. “ _So you're not going to try and beat the record for most touchdown passes overall_?”

This time Miller’s smile was a little less humble. “ _That would mean less touchdowns, and possibly less victories, so I'll go with ‘it's a possibility.’ That's always safe_.” The crowd laughed, and Monty smiled. 

“ _And your team is a favorite for the Super Bowl, so life seems to be going pretty well for you_.”

“ _Yeah, I'm proud to be part of my team, they're such an inspiring and hardworking group of guys_.” Miller gave another humble shrug, which Monty pointed out (Miller pinched Monty's thigh in response). “ _And everything in my life_ is _pretty good right now—all I can really do is be grateful for it and give back_.”

Indra smiled at that. Monty said, “She seems to like you.” 

“She told me she did, afterwards. Said I could come back anytime I liked.” 

“Nate, that's awesome.”

“ _Would you mind if I ask you to expand on that for a moment_?” Indra asked. 

“ _Sure. Well, as you pointed out, Bellamy and I have broken the record, our team has been successful lately, and we’re predicted to be even more so. I recently got a new agent, who has helped me in ways that I desperately needed, and I'm so glad she has my back. And I've been in a steady relationship for a few months now, so I'm—obviously—very happy about that_.”

“Oh my god, you set yourself up,” Monty said. 

Miller pinched him again. “We did this on purpose, Monty. It's called ‘how to come out as an athlete and not get shit blown up in your face.’” 

Indra said, “ _Yes, I think a lot of people have noticed that_.” She showed a picture of one of Miller’s tweets on the screen behind her, which said something about spending the day with M. Miller looked at it and started laughing, covering his face with his hand. The crowd was cheering a lot, continuing Miller’s teasing. 

Miller glanced at the screen again, then said, “ _I'm just glad you didn't pick a more embarrassing one_.” 

“I really am,” Miller muttered, taking Monty’s hand and twining their fingers together. 

“They're all public on your Twitter anyway,” Monty said with a laugh. 

Indra was saying, “ _So, why the nickname ‘M’_?”

The Miller in Monty’s lap said, “See? Classy segue into coming out.” 

The Miller on the TV screen said, “ _It's just a nickname I use for him so that people don't identify him on Twitter or anything. He is . . . somewhat recognizable_.” 

“ _Somewhat_. Thanks.”

“Monty, I was about to shit myself.”

The _him_ couldn’t have been any more deliberate on Miller’s part, but Indra didn’t act surprised or like it was a coming out; she just acted like it was a normal conversation. Indra continued, “ _Obviously the most important question is whether or not this M enjoys football_.”

Miller laughed, and Monty could almost see some of the tension going away. “ _He hates football, actually_.”

“ _Hates_?” Indra repeated. 

“ _I still make him watch games, though. He says all he understands is that Bellamy throws it and I score occasionally_.” The crowd laughed louder than they had before, and once they died down, Miller said, “ _I'm working on it. He'll come around eventually_.” 

Monty leaned down to kiss Miller’s forehead. “I hope you're ready to wait literally forever.”

“I'll get you someday.”

“Nate, I'm sorry, but it's _so_ boring.” 

“Raven sent me that snapchat of you yelling at the screen at my last game. She saved it for me.”

Monty groaned. “You were carrying the ball, that's the only exciting part.” 

The interview was closing by now, Indra inviting Miller to play a game of charades with her, the music guest star, and one of the fans. It was funny watching Miller’s expressions of confusion and frustration as he tried to act things out, and on one occasion, Miller even mouthed curses, which caused a riot of laughter. 

When Indra’s show was over, Monty leaned down to kiss Miller; the kiss was awkward, sideways and unexpected, but Miller kissed back anyway. 

“I'm proud of you,” Monty said against Miller’s mouth. “So, so proud.” 

Miller snaked his hand around Monty’s neck when Monty pulled away. “Wait,” he said, kissing the corner of Monty’s mouth, his chin, his bottom lip, “tell me more.”

Monty readily agreed. 

•••

 **Monty Green** @MontyMusic • 6:56 PM  
i really fucking hate football, though @NMillerFootball #SorryNotSorry #DontHateThePlayerHatetheGame 

**Author's Note:**

> hope you enjoyed!!! 
> 
> side note: a) i don't actually know if tigers and saber tooth tigers are related and b) comparing monty's band to y&y and alt-j was incredibly self-indulgent but i needed you guys to know what their music was like thank u


End file.
